The Accidental Mistress (30 page)

The door snicked shut behind him, and Tom’s presence reached out to him like a warm aura, embracing him without even touching him. There was furniture aplenty in the room – a couple of chairs, chests of drawers, a sort of sideboard with the usual hotel bits, coffee, tea, kettle – but it was the wide bed with its thick downy duvet that owned the space. It seemed impossible to look anywhere but there, and he wandered into the centre of the room, just staring at it.

A warm hand took his, and gently spun him round. Tom’s eyes were brilliantly blue in the low light, and his smile slight, but tempting.

‘What now?’ said Brent, unable to believe how absurdly naïve and unschooled he felt, even with his history as an escort. His first time ever, years ago, hadn’t seemed half the step that this was … or anywhere near as magical.

‘Let’s try kissing, shall we?’ Tom ran his tongue over his lower lip, preparing the way. ‘Nothing too scary in that, is there?’

Brent laughed, and inclined forward, confidence growing. Tom’s lips were warm, their surface soft, but with a strong hint of muscularity beneath. This man could kiss hard, and be voracious, Brent remembered, but for the moment, the touch was measured, delicate … and utterly delicious. He slid his arms around Tom, pulling him close, and the feel of his lean strength and the hard knot at his groin was familiar, much, much more so than he could ever have thought possible.

How can this be? How can a one-night stand, several years ago, have had an impact on me like this? How can it seem so memorable now, when in the interim I swear I’d completely forgotten it?

But enough with the questions. Tom’s tongue was questing for entrance, and he was eager to let it in, to taste and duel with it. Like his body, it was lean and muscular, a poem in understated power. Brent relaxed, allowing the dominance, thrilling to it, and to the way Tom’s hands slid down his back and gripped his buttocks, holding their bodies together. Rocking against each other, they fell into a natural rhythm, working their cocks in a hungry dance, through their clothes.

‘See … nothing scary,’ said Tom playfully as they broke apart, gasping.

‘Not scary at all,’ announced Brent, his heart soaring as he cradled the other man’s head and brought his lips back, to another kiss. This time Brent probed, loving the moist heat and the play of Tom’s tongue, not quite fighting back, but
not entirely yielding either. It didn’t seem to matter which of them was dominant. Maybe they both were, and it was a kind of seesaw, this way and that.

‘Shall we lie on the bed,’ he asked, his lips moving against Tom’s.

‘You bet,’ said the other man, already pulling him towards the generous expanse of crisp chintz. Kicking off their shoes, they fell on to the duvet, almost as one.

From a dream where she was some kind of sacrifice, spread on a slab before an all-powerful god-man, Lizzie snapped awake with a gasp. She’d fallen asleep on the thick, fluffy hearth rug before the fire, in the sitting room, half-draped across the low, thickly upholstered ottoman that was heaped with magazines and newspapers. Her knees were warm from the fire, and around her shoulders someone had draped a thick, woven throw.

An all-powerful god-man was observing her from his seat in one of the deeply upholstered chairs by the side of the fire.

‘John! When did you get home? What time is it?’ She rubbed her eyes furiously, blinking around. There were just a couple of small lamps lit in the corner of the room, and the main light came from the slow burning fire.

‘It’s about twelve-thirty,’ said John, after a quick glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. He sat forward, his blue eyes scanning her. ‘I was just wondering if I should wake you, or let you sleep on. Are you all right?’

He’d changed, presumably, since his arrival home. A soft, blue cotton long-sleeved top clung to the shape of his chest, arms and shoulders, and he wore old, well-worn jeans. His narrow elegant feet were bare.

‘Yes … I’m fine. I was watching the telly and I must have
nodded off. This is a lovely room … but then, they all are here.’

In the low light, John’s expression was inscrutable, but somehow she got the sense of him saying,
Yes, they are
. And suggesting, without saying so, that there was no good reason on earth for her not to live in this house, and share all these lovely rooms with him on a regular basis.

‘Any more where that came from?’ She nodded to a cut-crystal glass set on the little carved table set beside him. It had about a quarter of an inch of clear fluid in it: gin.

‘Yes,’ he replied, rising to his feet, all smooth elegance, perfectly at home in this romantic yet luxurious space. This was how he was used to living. As he strode across to the sideboard, she saw the gin bottle on a silver tray, along with ice in a clear bucket, slices of lime on a saucer, and several little bottles of tonic. It barely took him a moment to return to her with a lavish G&T.

‘Thanks.’ She took a sip immediately, sensing confrontation ahead. It was super strong, but delicious all the same. ‘Lovely!’

It would have been so easy if he’d just kissed her … and then ravished her. Bypassing everything else, to get to the simple, straightforward, wonderful place. But that would have been the craven route, and that wasn’t John. Or her either. Better to get issues out in the open … then fuck.

‘So, you’re my landlord now. That’s convenient.’

John tapped his finger against his glass. ‘Ah, so that’s it … the thing that’s bothering you.’

Lizzie contained herself. And the urge to toss back her entire and very strong gin and tonic. Did he think it wasn’t a problem, taking over all aspects of her life and controlling them with his money? Her head seemed to whirl, even
though she’d barely sipped her drink, conflicting thoughts and urges bashing around in her mind, cannoning off each other. She’d never really thought about the expression ‘in two minds’ much before … but now she knew it intimately. Love and gratitude, for John’s boundless generosity and desire to further her welfare, were completely at war with her frustration at being manoeuvred and steamrollered into things.

‘You mean you didn’t know? You didn’t expect me to be at least concerned?’ She did sip then, taking a big mouthful, only just avoiding coughing at the jolt of silvery spirit. ‘I mean, I know you mean well. And you’re the kindest, most generous man I’ve ever met … but don’t deny that some of the motivation behind it is to get what
you
want!’

‘Why would I deny that? I’d be a liar if I did.’ He was very still in his chair, utterly relaxed, and yet that finger still slid over the cut design of his glass, again and again. ‘I want you, Lizzie. I need you. I desire you. I admire you. I want you to be with me … the maximum amount of time.’ For a moment he gnawed his lower lip, and despite the conflict simmering between them, Lizzie nearly melted with desire, just from that tiny little thing. ‘For the good sex … and for the games … but also for everything. I’ve effectively been alone for a long time, and that’s been my choice. Because I couldn’t find anyone I wanted to spend time with. But now I have found someone. And I’ll do anything I can to get what I want.’

A little silver thrill ran through her. Like the gin, but not the gin. His determination was intoxicating, despite her qualms. It would be so easy just to give in, go with his flow … but that wasn’t her way. She’d been swept along before, doing what other people wanted when she had reservations
herself, and that had nearly taken her along a life path that would’ve made her miserable.

Worse still, that path would almost certainly never have crossed John’s!

‘You can’t just manipulate people and buy everything.’

‘Why not? It usually works.’ That tricky little smile of his appeared. So confident. The man who never lost when he gambled. The man not used to losing. And yet … sometimes there were deep shadows. Had he lost, once? More than once? Something to do with ‘Rose’, who may or may not be the woman who’d made him angry in New York?

He’d certainly made a bad choice, the worst possible choice, that time he’d got behind the wheel, over twenty years ago … and driven like a fool. With alcohol in his blood.

Was that it? Why he didn’t like to gamble and lose now? Why his choices were so calculated?

She took another sip of gin, knowing she was making her own stupid decision where alcohol was concerned, but hating the edge between them, and wanting to take it off.

Her head swum a bit and she said, ‘But don’t you think you’re behaving like a big kid, trying to fix everything with money? I … I’m not sure yet. I do care for you, but you’re forcing big changes on me.’

‘A big kid?’ He gave a small, bitter laugh, and set his glass aside. ‘I wish …’

‘What do you mean?’ She knew, though. That again.

‘Don’t forget I’m nearly twice your age, love. Would that I were a young man again. A kid. A young stud. Someone who hadn’t, well, done some of the things I’ve done. If I were a young man, maybe I wouldn’t push myself so hard, or push you.’ Without warning, he slipped on to his knees, and shuffled along the rug, to sit facing her. Somehow he did
it so elegantly, though, and Lizzie almost laughed thinking how she’d have looked like a wombat or some other pudgy animal, slithering along on her haunches.

His blue eyes like flames, he stared at her intently. ‘You’re so young and beautiful. So bright … so glowing. I always feel that some younger man might come along and steal you away.’ His jaw tightened, a warrior look passing over his beautiful face. ‘So I have to use the weapons in my arsenal that a younger man, a man in his twenties, a man
your
age, probably wouldn’t have at his disposal. My money and the resources that come with it.’

Putting aside the last of her gin, because she didn’t need it or want it, Lizzie returned his fierce look with one of her own. ‘Don’t be stupid, John. I never even stop to think about the age gap between us.’ It was true; she only remembered it when he brought it up. ‘I think of you as someone my own age … well, maybe a smidge older, thirties perhaps, with slightly better sense than me.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Well, more sense, most of the time. And as for the money, I’ve told you before … this lot …’ She waved her hand, hoping to encompass Dalethwaite, his fortune … the whole shebang. ‘It isn’t what I love. It’s you, you fucking idiot. You!’

John’s lips twitched, as if he wanted to laugh at her outburst, but to his credit, he remained straight-faced.

‘You don’t need money to make me care for you. You have
this
!’ She reached out and touched his temple, the seat of his mind. ‘And
this
!’ She curved her fingers down the side of his face and jaw, so handsome. ‘And
this
!’ She pressed her hand over his heart, his great, kind heart. ‘And
this
!’ Letting herself grin, she slid her hand down his body and cupped his groin.

For an instant John blinked. It could have been emotion, or perhaps just surprise at her pre-emptive cock strike.
Then the little smile escaped his control; as did his erection, instantly hardening. She watched him fighting to stay serious, and on top of his words. It was like a poem across his face.

‘I appreciate that, love … I do … but if you care for me, you care for me as the man who’s been shaped by his circumstances.’ He lifted her hand from his groin, then kissed her palm, before sliding his fingers around hers. ‘I’m what my past has made me. And what my money has made me too. I’m as used to my life as you are to yours. I can’t just give it all away and live what you’d call a normal life. It’s only in romantic melodrama that people do that. In real life, everybody makes accommodations, no matter how much they care for someone, and no matter how “good” a person they are.’ He squeezed her hand, then let it loose. ‘I do care for you, more than I ever imagined I could … but, I must admit, I’m not that admirable a person really. And I like the good life. I like fine things and comfort.’

‘I do too … but it’s all new.’

He winked at her. ‘And let’s face it, can you see me living with you at St Patrick’s Road, wading through all the clothes and coffee cups and magazines in your bedroom to get to you?’ His grin widened again. ‘You’re the most wonderful woman in the world, Lizzie, but you must admit, in housework terms, you’re a bit of a slob.’

‘You cheeky sod!’ She was laughing, though. It was true. Her room at St Patrick’s Road was mostly a terrible mess, and she’d been just as much a slattern when she’d lived at home, to the despair of her mother. So, that was one huge tick in the box of moving in with John. He had first-rate staff to keep on top of her untidiness.

‘I bet you’d be just as untidy if you’d never had people to pick up after you!’ she went on. ‘Who knows what sort
of a scruffbag you’d be if you lived down amongst the lower orders like the rest of us.’

‘Now who’s a cheeky sod?’

Without warning, he lunged at her, grabbed her in his arms and ravished her with a fierce, hard kiss. Holding her tight, he laid her back on to the hearthrug, looming over her, smoothing back her hair, then launched into kisses again.

I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to distract me with sex, and your sheer, bloody gorgeousness. You’re doing it because you know you can … because it’s easier than debating the ‘issues’.

She didn’t mind, though. Not for the moment. Enjoying him
was
easier. And wonderful. Her body came alive, every cell tingling. How many days had it been since they’d been together? It seemed like a lifetime.

But some time, tomorrow or the next day or the next … things would have to be faced up to. By both of them.

Brent fell back against the pillows, gently urged by Tom. As he closed his eyes, he felt the other man working on the buttons of his shirt, drawing it open and allowing the soft air of the room to caress his chest.

The bedroom smelt divinely old-fashioned, with potpourri and furniture polish, but neither of those scents hid the lusciously crisp aroma of Tom’s fresh aftershave. It was green, yet rich, with a hint of spice. Brent drew in a deep breath, then gasped again as Tom’s warm lips settled against his nipple. The contact was light, yet tantalising, and when Tom began to lick and nibble, Brent couldn’t prevent himself squirming in simple pleasure.